Pile The Bodies High At

Let Your Heart Look On White Sea Spray And Be Lonely. Love Is A Fool Star. You And A Ring Of Stars May Mention My Name And Then Forget Me. Love Is A Fool Star.

Poetry Is A Section Of River-fog And Moving Boat-lights, Delivered Between Bridges And Whistles, So One Says, 'oh!' And Another, 'how?'

I Have Always Felt That A Woman Has The Right To Treat The Subject Of Her Age With Ambiguity Until, Perhaps, She Passes Into The Realm Of Over Ninety. Then It Is Better She Be Candid With Herself And With The World.

The Dead Hold In Their Hands Only What They Have Given Away.

I Have Become Infected, Now That I See How Beautifully A Book Is Coming Out Of All This.